


In a Bottle

by orphan_account



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: M/M, Possessive Behavior, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 11:33:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: People like to pick the prettiest flowers of the batch and Woojin had plucked the most loveliest flowers of them all.(or: Vampire Woojin and walking bloodbag Chan)





	In a Bottle

Woojin has never felt so anxious and antsy over the littlest of details such as the angle his couch was set towards or whether or not the antiques were placed on the second top shelf instead of the third. He's snapped at a Seungmin more than once and scares off a maid who drops a tray of jasmine tea in her panic to escape out the door to evade his wrath. 

He chalks it up to the fact that he hasn't fed in awhile. He would much rather avoid it if he could, but he's irritable and too frail compared to his usual robustness that he walks upstairs towards Chan's room.

The walk upstairs is longer than he remembers, with the endless flight of stairs, and when he gets to Chan's door, he knocks before he enters. It's more out of formality than anything because he's always welcome in. 

"Come in," says a voice, muffled slightly from the door and sounding as if he had just woken up from a nap, disoriented.

Woojin twists the knobs of the door and allows himself inside and glances at the figure inside the bed. "Just woken up? You could go back to sleep, I'll come again at a better time." The pain in his abdomen rebels at his words. 

"No, no," Chan frantically shakes his head as he ushers Woojin to come closer, but it's an attestment to how tired he is, as he hasn't gotten up from his bed. "Just slightly tired from this afternoon."

He does not say what he did during the afternoon, but he smells of gardenia and that's enough to clue in Woojin about everything. He settles on saying nothing about it though and just nods in response. The scent of Chan's blood permeates through the faint smell of gardenia though and Woojin feels the prick of his fangs at the thick, aromatic scent. 

"What do you need?" Chan asks, with a big smile etched onto his face, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

"I need to feed," Woojin says bluntly in his impatience. He was more subtle than this, the little rationality left scolds, but the ache everywhere was enough of a deterrent to be polite. 

At the word _feed_ , it chases the sleep out of Chan in an instant as he straightens at those words and looks slightly surprised for a few seconds before nodding eagerly. He always looked like this when Woojin comes to feed, like an overly excited dog, eager to please him. 

"Come, feed, you look more paler than you usually do. Why don't you come to me more often, you always hold off until you're on the verge of starving," Chan fusses, as he unbuttons his shirt. He's been wearing more of them as replacement of regular shirts ever since he's come to live in Woojin's mansion for more efficiency and at the sight of loose, white fabric on Chan. Woojin prefers them anyways, the material soft underneath his fingers. 

He bares his neck towards Woojin and encourages him. "Come on."

And Woojin responds to the ushers, like a match going back and forth as he walks towards Chan, checking him over quickly before sinking teeth into fleshy neck. Chan slightly whimpers at the sudden invasion, but the noise is blocked out by the thrum in Woojin's head as he drinks blood.

It tastes like nectar and Chan's blood is warm and delicious, enticing enough for Woojin to want to drink him dry, but he likes Chan enough, better than anyone else that he's fed off of, enough to want him alive and by his side. Maybe he likes him too much, more than enough, he worries. 

One hand is holds the back of Chan tightly and the other has a steady grip on his wrist, checking his pulse. It weakens slowly, but surely and when he's no longer on the verge of wanting to kill everything in sight, with the steady thrum of Chan's pulse becoming equivalent to slow beats, he lets himself pull away and feels a droplet of blood fall onto his sleeves as he does so, mouthing at the neck.

He licks to few beads of blood that remains on Chan's neck and gives it another tentative lick for healing before he pulls back to observe Chan. He looks more tired than he was post-sleep and Woojin rubs circles on Chan's back as he allows Chan to fall forward and rest on his shoulders. 

It was almost ridiculous how Chan has been so insistent on Woojin feeding more often, to sate his hunger sooner than near the end, but Woojin knows Chan cannot handle such frequent feeding, how he could barely stay awake now, feeling the effects of lost blood. It's almost endearing. 

"I'll let you sleep some more. I'll have one of the butlers bring you something to eat and drink," Woojin whispers, as not to awaken Chan from being on the verge of sleep. 

Chan mumurs lightly against his shoulders and Woojin has to push down _fond_ before it spreads. 

He detaches Chan's arms from himself and lightly places him on his bed. He turns off the lights and the room is dark, but he easily passes through towards the kitchen, where he orders one of the butlers to bring in green tea and a piece of strawberry cake Chan enjoyed. He orders him to place two strawberries on the slice because Chan likes them so much. A little favoritism never hurt anyone. 

* 

"Does it hurt?" Woojin asks one day, when he just finished feeding, sitting on his bed besides Chan who limply lied underneath his covers, slowly gaining back color to his face and loosing the unnatural pallor he always had after feeding.

Though, he was a natural pale anyways, paler than Woojin was despite his aversion to the sun. Seungmin has suggested he let Chan outside every now and then to get tanned, enjoy a breath of fresh air and stop being so isolated with only Woojin as company, but Woojin would rather Chan be as pale and suffocated as he felt than let him outside of these protective walls where Woojin had surveillance of. 

Chan turns his head towards Woojin and raises his eyes. "What does?" Chan asks, but Woojin is aware that Chan knows what he's asking for, but his disposition is foolishly kind enough that he doesn't mention it without Woojin bringing it up first.

Pushing himself closer to Chan, close enough so that he could run a hand through Chan's messy strands of black hair that felt akin to silken like strands at the touch, Woojin lets himself bring up the topic. 

"When I bite you." Woojin's hand lowers from Chan's curls, his messy nest of a hair, and he brushes fingers over healing bite marks that causes Chan to jump slightly at the touch. The punctures felt deep. 

At Woojin's words, Chan struggles to bring up a response. If he lies, Woojin would know, as Chan's a bad liar. His eyes grow wide and he starts to mumble, as if unsure of his lies.

"Does it hurt?" Woojin asks once more, but with more of a punctuation on his words.

"Only a bit," Chan mumbles and its small and lacks the usual energy that goes behind every word.

"Does it hurt right now?" Woojin says, sighing as he ran a finger once more through the puncture.

"No," Chan mumbles again and its spoken so softly and lightly that Woojin would've not heard it if not for supernatural assistance.

He resists the urge to scold Chan for not piping up, being more assertive over what he deserves, rolling his eyes at Chan's timidness to speak of his pain or weaknesses. There's a reprimand that he leaves at the bottom of his throat in lieu of inching forward on the bed. 

He places a hand on Chan's shoulders and brings the light body closer to him, close enough that he could smell the scent of fruit and faintly of gardenia that was growing in garden-- Woojin purposely acts as if he hasn't noticed Chan sneaking out to water the flowers despite the persistence warnings to stay inside, mostly because at least Jeongin was there to keep watch of him, one of the maid's son that tended to the garden.

A small part of the reason is also because Chan is too much of a pretty painting, too much of a dove, too much of everything to be confined to the insides. Chan is too pretty to just wither inside without anyone to enjoy but Woojin is just as greedy as Chan is pretty.

People like to pick the prettiest flowers of the batch and Woojin had plucked the most loveliest flowers of them all. He had given it a little home inside his house and only he could see it and admire it. 

"Woojin?" Chan questions when Woojin gets closer. He's close enough that Chan's slight breaths feel hot on the side of his neck. 

He lets his mouth meet flesh, over the wounds that he had left on Chan, allowing his tongue run over it. Underneath him, Chan jolts at the sudden action, but he does not make a move to make Woojin stop, he never does, just lays pliantly as he waits for Woojin to leave when satisfied.

When he feels he's left enough saliva, his lips leave warm skin and he pulls back to see a shivering Chan--he's always been sensitive on his neck--, biting his lips in an attempt to stay quiet and it makes him want to run a hand through his figure, to _feel_ rather than want, like he's always lived, and maybe, Woojin can admit to himself that he does like him, even the slightest bit, but he's aware that he adores him far more than he would like to acknowledge.

He usually gets what he desires for, because he's more stubborn than most, but Chan is the one thing he can't quite bet everything on like he usually does, he remains cautious and protective and finally it clicks.

Maybe Woojin isn't letting him stay, maybe what he desires for is for Chan to want to stay. 

Maybe, just maybe, he likes Chan. 

"Are you okay?" Woojin forces out, trying to not let his realization deter him from his original intentions, to help Chan feel better, not want to map kisses throughout his body. "The saliva'll help heal it."

He does not usually do this because he's sure Chan would prefer not to have his neck coated in saliva, but he would rather Chan be uncomfortable than in far more pain when Woojin could easily heal him up. 

Chan shoots a smile at him and hovers a hand over the wound, but doesn't actually touch it. "Thank you, Woojin. It was fine before too though, don't worry."

The smile that he directs at Woojin is warm and adoring, familiar enough that Woojin wants to conquer. He wonders if his lips taste as sweet as he looked and really, the thoughts of affection spill like a dam, flooding the mental prison bars he's set up. 

"Did the pain lessen?" Woojin asks and that makes Chan let out a small laugh, reminding Woojin of what he remembers to be the tinkling of wind chimes to be. He has not seen one in awhile and its getting harder to recall things of the past when he's fixated on the present so much.

"I'm not fragile, I'll live. I'm not the same scared kid that I was," Chan says as he brushes the hair out of his eyes. His eyes glow and his skin is bringing back some the color he had previously lost. He'll talk with the chef to bring something up, he stores the thought in the back of his head. 

"I know," Woojin replies, and he knows Chan the best out of anyone and he would know that Chan is no longer the same person when he first met him. 

Woojin remembers when Chan was afraid of him, when he was a jittery little thing, scared that his own shadow would somehow end up as his murderer. He spoke when he needed to and when he did, it was said in soft mumbles underneath his breath, his eyes never meeting Woojin's and seemingly always at the architecture of the mansion. 

He was easy to scare and isolated, talking only to Woojin and even then, it was short and curt. 

He also liked to lock himself up at times, effectively shutting himself out of Woojin's sphere of existence and it would've been effortless, to just kick the door down and demand Chan speak to him, especially in his own home, but Woojin sits in front of the door, laying against the door frame and listening to Chan's laboring breaths and his occasional cries. 

Woojin understands the feelings of loss, he's lived for centuries and loss was the definition of his existence, but he has never felt as much as Chan does, so he can only sit and wait because that's all he can do. 

They talked in knocks.

Every now and then, Chan knocked against the door because he wanted time to mourn, wanted to be alone, but he didn't want to be lonely. He would knock every few hours, to be assured of Woojon's presence, and everytime, Woojin would deliver a knock of his own. 

It was as confined and isolated as it sounded, but it assured Chan everytime, from the steady heartbeats that Woojin had heard. 

Seeing Chan now, talking to him jovially asking Woojin about his day, speaking of the finished roses and his want of a vase for them, Woojin knows Chan is no longer the same. 

He wants to think that Chan's past is no longer the same as well, that it holds up no longer as it used to, but Chan is every so persistent with asking about his trip to his hometown that Woojin is more likely to crack under guilt than Chan is to give up despite the countless rejections. 

Eyeing the clock, Woojin forces himself upwards and out of the bed. "I'll get you something to eat."

*

"It's raining hard," Chan comments as his hands are idle at work, cutting the thorns off of roses. Flowers reminds Chan of home, he tells Woojin that his parents own a flower shop so Woojin allows small indulgences, even if he hates the smell of certain flowers, especially roses. 

His nose was particularly sensitive, his kind usually were to everything, so it smells as if he had been dunked into the heavy, pungent scent. Chan remains blissfully unaware of the fact, and Woojin would rather not take away something so important, something that allows Chan to smile that widely because of Chan's guilt, so he doesn't mention it. 

"Would you rather prefer it to not?" Woojin questions, mindlessly. His eyes are focused on Chan's hands, watching as he cuts like second nature, like he's always done this repetitive motions, and he probably has, he's led a life beyond Woojin. 

The thought settles uncomfortably inside. 

Chan considers it for a second, like he does with everything, treating them like something of valuable input no matter how far-fetched or mindless the thought was, before he looks upwards towards him, meeting him eye-to-eye. 

There's something pretty about the way Chan's eyes gleam agilely underneath the fluorescent lights, the pale white glowing softly against the curves of his face, with an airy smile of that seemed to be etched onto his face, that spoke of warmth and something fetching enough to frame upon the wall. He looked pretty.

Woojin clenches his hands tighter than before, feeling the buildup of sweat as he keeps his wants at bay. He would rather not admit to himself how attractive Chan looks. 

"I prefer sunny days," Chan finally says after the long beat of silence, brushing fingers against the pile of dethorned roses. They shift slightly underneath the touch and Woojin has not control every facial muscle to not scrunch up in disgust at the waff of too much smells filling up his nostrils. 

Woojin looks outside the window, one of the rare days the curtains are drawn as the sun has always been his vice to his kind since the age of time, but it rains heavily and the sunlight is nothing more but muted on Woojin's skin. He looks upwards at Chan who has scrunched up brows in an attempt to chip a particularly stubborn thorn out. "Why?" 

"I always played outside with my friends," Chan answers and it drips of nostalgia and something Woojin cannot compare to and he feels a stab of jealousy. 

"It doesn't matter now," Woojin says thoughtlessly, his only thought on the putrid smell of roses and hurt pride. It matters not when he's trapped here and the external weather does not matter when he's to be inside. 

Chan pauses clipping his thorns and he looks dejected for a bit, and Woojin feels guilty for being the reason for it, but not guilty enough to let Chan out of his grasps. Maybe he should feel remorse for keeping Chan confined inside his castle, and he does feel remorse, but it does not outweigh his satiafaction, the beat of joy, his heart preening everytime he sees Chan, everytime he sinks into him. 

"I know," Chan finally says, his lips curling into a melancholy smile and Woojin stares at his face, sees the running, conflicted emotions, and in that second, he wants Chan to chose him over the sun. He wants Chan to stay inside willingly and not long for the sun. 

He calls himself stupid and ignores the influx of complicated emotions. 

Instead, he settles on closing his eyes and just listening to the soothing sounds of Chan breathing and the pitter-patter of rain clashing against the clear glass windows panes. He had a friend once, who wanted to install gothic stained glass shards for windows, but that was centuries ago, when he was a wanderer, when there was no Chan to chain him to one place.

"Ow--"

Chan cries out, dropping the rose along with his tool and Woojin smells it before he sees it, the fresh scent of blood that Chan spills. It's not so long ago since he fed, so he has enough self-control to not attack, but instead, he brings the finger to his mouth and licks. 

It tastes the same as it always does, but it never fails to make Woojin's insides warm and his head hum in approval. 

"Be more careful," Woojin scolds lightly, observing the wound. It's a small wound, a thorn prick, and could easily be wrapped up, but he does not bother, not when he can solve it. 

"Sorry," Chan says underneath his breath. "I wasn't paying attention." 

Woojin doesn't know the reason for why he scolds Chan, why he cares so much-- well, he does know, but he doesn't want to admit it or acknowledge it even-- so he settles on giving Chan's hand a firm squeeze before letting go. 

Chan's blood, despite it amounting to a small drop, smells far more stronger than any rose, far more sweeter and far more enticing. 

*

Chan talks about home with a fond smile on his face and it makes Woojin slightly jealous, how the past seems to outweighs him, Chan's present and future. 

He's jealous over has-beens and back-thens, and he's almost glad Chan is confined to this mansion, so he wouldn't run back home. He has no one to turn back to except Woojin, but memories compel Chan to ask him to visit his old hometown once every month. Woojin gives a sorry frown and shakes of head everytime and he awaits the month Chan forgets to ask.

Chan asks each time, with a more confident voice than previously, but with less hopeful eyes. 

Sometimes, he's curious about Chan's past, because some part of him wants to know everything about Chan, and his past is part of the full service package. 

He wants to hear everything about Chan. He listens to stories of home, family, and the amount of love Chan grew up with. Nostalgia wraps around Chan as he does so, and Woojin finds himself not jealous of Chan and his detailed descriptions of what it is to have a family, but jealous for Chan. 

He does not need a better childhood, does not need love or family, he just wants Chan to stay. That is a foreign thought, wanting someone to stay, so he just pushes the thoughts out of his mind and decides to clear it up for another day, never today, which constitutes as never. 

Despite his curiousity for the past, most times, he's more curious about his future. 

"What do you see in your future?" Woojin lazily runs a hand through Chan's hair. The blinds are shut as always and even though he's truly himself during the night, the strongest and most able-bodied, he stays holed inside his vast mansion.

"The future?" Chan asks. His face scrunches up deep in thought before he settles on a small smile.

Woojin grasps the blankets underneath his just a little harder. 

"I'll run a flowershop when my blood is too old for you," Chan teases with a faint smile. "You'll come visit me often and be my main source of income, won't you?" 

"No promises," Woojin teases back and bites down the pleasant approval at the fact that he's included in his pseudo future that Chan dreams of. Chan laughs, loudly and happily, a sound that reminds him of the sun, and Woojin thinks that he gets enough warmth from Chan to make up for the lack of sun in his life. 


End file.
